The Brand
by Sat-Isis
Summary: Yet another advance spoiler for All Your Nights Belong to Me.  The short tale guest stars Mercer alongside Cutler and James.  We all know that Beckett has a thing for branding people, right?  Read at your own risk.
1. Chapter 1

James had made Cutler very angry this time and it troubled him. The last time Norrington angered the Lord he simply refused to see him – as though a reprieve from buggery were a punishment! But Beckett had summoned him and the Admiral worried.

Upon arrival in the office of Lord Beckett, James felt the cold rush of adrenaline shot down his spine followed by a hot flush of blood. Cutler was dressed and sitting behind his desk while Mercer stood guard over the fireplace.

A zephyr played with the sheer curtains on the open French doors leading out to the balcony. The soothing sound of the ocean sung a melody for the stars above in the clear, black, moonless sky.

All this was lost on Norrington because he knew what manner of device Mr. Mercer monitored by the hearth: brands. Hat under his arm, the Admiral placed himself before Beckett's desk and bowed artfully; tonight's meeting seemed to have a formality about it.

Cutler watched James from his desk, his eyes flicking hither and thither in an emotionless face. He did not ask Norrington to sit. With a sigh the Lord rose and padded to the fireplace, removing the brand the EITC used on pirates and contemplated the red hot iron in silence. James was sweating.

"There are many things I could do to you, James, to manifest my displeasure in physical means; but I doubt any of them would burn as much as this."

Beckett said it so quietly, almost to himself, as he indicated the backwards P with a slight inclination of his head. Cutler locked eyes with James.

"No. NO!"

Norrington tried to run, but Mercer had anticipated this. While James had been listening very carefully to Beckett's voice, the administrative assassin had walked around to the Admiral's rear.

Mr. Mercer grabbed James' arms and held them tightly from behind while simultaneously knocking his feet out from underneath him and slamming him face first against Beckett's desk. Norrington's hat was trampled underfoot as he fought the clerk viciously.

James went limp against the wood when he realized that Mercer already had his hands lashed together. The instant the man moved away, Norrington sprung up and tried again to run from the room. It was shameful how easily the clerk caught the Admiral and Norrington dropped to his knees with a sob.

Beckett had replaced the brand with the other in the fireplace and came to stand above James, "tsking" him. Norrington trembled as he sucked in a deep calming breath and steeled himself for what was about to happen. He would be damned if he gave Cutler the satisfaction of seeing him snivel like a midshipman.

Mercer hoisted him up. James shook off his grip, turned about, and splayed himself across the Lord's desk. Norrington breathed deeply, knowing this was one exception to the "no permanent disfiguring" rule on his contract with Beckett. Cutler was well within his rights.

The Lord lifted the tails of Norrington's uniform and folded them over his back before setting to work on the buttons of his breeches. Mercer came around the other side of the desk and reached out with both hands.

It seemed there was some measure of mercy in David Mercer and James thanked God that Beckett was blessed with a jealous servant. One hand pressed his head down and the other, with a slight of hand that would put Jack Sparrow to shame, pressed a piece of leather to Norrington's lips.

Cutler finished pulling down James' breeches and lifting his shirt to uncover the white flesh of his quivering buttocks. Beckett stroked his knuckles along the smooth flesh.

"Such a shame, such a waste. Mr. Mercer, the brand, if you please."

James stilled himself and felt his eyes roll back into his head at the white hot flame of pain. Instead of crying out in the high-pitched scream of a dying animal, Norrington keened very softly as he bit down into the leather.

At last the brand came away with the soft sounds of ripping; pieces of Norrington's abused flesh stuck to the brand. James shuddered as though in the aftershocks of a climax. The absence of pain after having a great deal of pain inflicted had the same affect as an orgasm.

"I do hope in the future James, for both our sakes, you never give me cause to do something like this again. Good night."

Once again Mercer was left the clean up the mess: untying Norrington's hands, rubbing the salve into his wound, offering him a tot of rum, helping him return his uniform into some semblance of order…

This time there was pride in the clerk's eyes as he appraised Norrington. James had impressed the man with his submission to Cutler Beckett. The Admiral felt as though he had just gained an ally in this man.

"I wouldn't worry about the scar. It's not as bad as you think; it's much worse."

With that ambiguous statement, Mr. Mercer excused himself and James was left alone in the empty office to contemplate just _what_ had been branded into his arse.


	2. Chapter 2

James Norrington clutched his hat under his arm, gripping it so tightly in his sweaty palm that the dye was bleeding, as Mr. Mercer went into Beckett's office to announce his presence. The Admiral was hours early and vibrating with controlled rage.

"Lord Beckett will see you now."

Mercer held open the door and as Norrington passed he gave James a smirk and a wink. Norrington stopped dead in his tracks, a frown marring his carefully blank expression, and watched as the clerk went back to his desk, closing the door behind him.

"Ah, James, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Norrington turned to look at Lord Beckett; languid eyes set over a smug expression and a pink tongue licking over sneering lips. Cutler was using his bedroom voice and bedroom eyes hours before sunset. It spurred James into action.

"You had no right!"

Beckett blinked at the words curtly bitten out, an utterly innocent expression washing over his face.

"What ever do you mean, James?"

The Admiral used his free hand to point to the area of his buttocks. Lord Beckett cocked a brow and reached for the box on his desk. He said nothing as his fingers stroked the wood before opening the lid to remove various paperwork wrapped in oiled leather.

"Do you know what this is?"

Beckett held up a leather envelope that was full of shine and Norrington finally let his accusing finger drop from his arse. Too hot to speak, James simply shook his head in the negative.

"This is the warrant for your execution. I suppose you wonder why I have kept it after all this time. I _still_ want that compass. James."

"I brought you the Heart and you are _still_ unsatisfied?"

James spoke through his teeth; he recognized the other weather-beaten wallet as his own stolen pardon.

"You could have branded me with any other symbol and it would have been your right – I would have no recourse for complaint. You had no right to mark me in such a way – I do not belong to you!"

The Lord let the envelopes fall upon the desk and slowly rose from his chair.

"I do not quite think you understand, James. If I chose I could have you executed right here - right now, and I would be perfectly within the letter of the law. I could take this pardon and throw it in the fire and no one would know. I can do as I please; where I please, when I please, and to whomever I please."

Cutler had come around his desk with each platitude and came to stand before Norrington. Even though Beckett had to look up due to James' superior height, he still gave the impression of looking down his nose at the Admiral.

"No. You. Cannot."

The Admiral let his lips snarl back and showed Cutler his crooked teeth. Beckett pressed himself into Norrington's space, equally fierce, and jammed his hand between his thighs, squeezing James' cock. Hot breath passed over Cutler's face as Norrington gasped aloud, his hat tumbling to the floor as he smacked Beckett's offending hand away.

"Never touch me again before night!"

Cutler made an indignant little sound as his hand stung from the blow. Had Norrington been in the mood he would have been amused by the look of outrage on the little Lord's face.

"You belong to me!"

"Not for another four hours, My Lord. Once again you have over stepped yourself and I am perfectly, legally within my rights to say as much."

Cutler Beckett slapped James Norrington across the face. In response, the Admiral kneed him in the groin before pushing him back against the desk. The Lord writhed on the floor clutching his bruised parts as Norrington stepped over him to reach the warrant and pardon on the desk.

After checking each document for its authenticity, James bent down to retrieve his hat. Cutler, tears streaming down his face, shakingly stood up and kicked Norrington squarely on his freshly branded cheek. The Admiral went down with a roar onto his hands and knees and Beckett kicked him again in his stomach.

Rearing back, James tried to gather the leather wallets and his hat, but Beckett had stomped his foot down on Norrington's hand. With a grunt, the Admiral reached out, grabbed the Lord's ankle and sent him tumbling on his arse.

Limbs flailing, the wind knocked out of him, Cutler tried to get up off the floor. James stood with the reclaimed paperwork and dented hat and rubbed the area around his healing brand.

"So help me God, when I take you to my bed tonight I will make you scream!"

Cutler's face was suffused with red from his anger and physical discomfort, his voice quavered, still high pitched. James had already slid the wallets into his coat pocket and was beating his hat back into shape.

"I dare you."

And Norrington, drunk on his temporary triumph, turned on his heel and with a limping swagger vacated the Lord's office. Slamming the door shut behind him, James gave a curt nod to Mr. Mercer. The clerk was biting his lip, his eyes moist, to hide his mirth. It appeared as though during the entire meeting, he had been laughing silently.

A cry of rage and a crash against the door alerted both men that Lord Cutler Beckett had snatched the preserved rhinoceros horn off of his desk and had thrown it at James' retreating head. The Admiral quirked his brows at Mercer and with a quick, closemouthed smile left the EITC headquarters.

It had been the hardest moment of his life to hold in the laughter and when James Norrington was gone, David Mercer's mouth and shoulders twitched as he wept with hilarity.


	3. Chapter 3

Part: 3

Cutler Becket trembled with rage, the edges of his vision white with it, and all he could see was the back of James Norrington's bloody, smirking head as it bobbed away from him. He would show him and reaching out blindly with shaking hand, Beckett grabbed something heavy from off his desk and let it fly. The rhinoceros horn arched in the air like a lazy bumblebee, spinning slightly, and aiming straight for the back of Norrington's head. Then the door was closed and the horn continued to tumble slowly through the air, until the blunt tip of the thing imbedded itself into the wood of the door.

Beckett slumped back against his desk and took a deep breath, gaining control of himself. He walked to his door and gave the horn a tug. Belligerently, it stayed stuck. His hearing came back in degrees, from a ringing deafness to the realization that his clerk was laughing at him. Cutler mastered his expression, straightened his clothes, and opened the door. Mercer was hunched over his desk, laughing into folded arms.

"Does something amuse you, Mr. Mercer?" Beckett asked archly and he folded his arms across his chest. David Mercer continued to laugh at him, shaking his head. Cutler struck viciously with his foot and knocked the chair out from under Mercer. His clerk acted as though it had not happened, still curled over his desk, his legs bent as though Beckett had rendered his chair invisible. Cutler huffed in disgust, "Come on then, I need you to get my rhinoceros horn out of my door."

Mercer roared with laughter at this statement and pounded his desk; ink plopped out of its well and splotched the pages in his log book. Beckett rolled his eyes and went back into his office, slamming the door behind him. "Nevermind!" Beckett called from his office; the horn has popped loose from the door and landed at his feet. Mercer slid off his desk and landed neatly on the floor, sitting cross-legged and laughing like a fool. Beckett picked up his horn and fondled the tip to make sure it was not damaged, and then placed it back on his desk with a sigh. It was turning out to be a long day. It was going to be a long, hard night.


End file.
